Road Trip
by Gun Brooke
Summary: Back from Paris when Andy almost quit, but didn't, Miranda decides to organize a road trip with the best Runway team. With so much pent up emotions of hurt, betrayal, love, and resentment between the five participant in this road trip, the tension is thick enough to carve for dinner.
1. Chapter 1

"Andrea." Miranda Priestly's voice, soft yet so lethal just by uttering my name from inside her ultra-modern office, sends the now so familiar shudders through my entire system. I grab my notebook and circle my desk so fast I nearly slide over to Emily's. My colleague, Miranda's first assistant, sneers at me, but there is little emphasis behind it as Emily and I got on better this days. I think all the clothes I brought back from Paris fashion week eight weeks ago when she was in hospital with a broken leg, helped to smooth the waters between us.

"There you are. What can possibly take you so long?" Miranda glances up at me over her reading glasses and that look; I swear sometimes I suspect she knows what it does to me. If she knows, does it give her a power kick to see me all flustered and trembling? I tell myself I'm being paranoid. Miranda couldn't care less about her second assistant's response to her. The woman behind the glass desk is all about her work, keeping Runway the best magazine worldwide.

"I'm sorry, Miranda," I murmur and take a seat across from her, ready with my notepad. I grip my pen hard to avoid the telltale tremors.

"We're going on a road trip." Miranda removes her glasses and taps the frame against her lips. "Arrange for a minivan. Seven seats. As much as I loathe such transportation, we need to cut costs. Are you a good driver? Safe?"

I blink. "Uhm. Yes, I think so. I haven't driven much since I moved here—"

"Good. You, Serena and I will take turns."

We were going to be gone that long? I gathered my courage. "How long will we be gone?"

"Two weeks. Why? Do you have somewhere better to be?" Snapping her gaze back to me, Miranda frowns. She places her glasses on her desk and laces her fingers loosely. Though her pose is relaxed, she still manages to look like she might pounce at any given moment.

"Not at all. Just trying to figure out the details as we're getting into the holiday season."

"Well. The team will be the usual. You, Emily, Nigel, Serena and me."

"That's five," I point out and regret it immediately. "Uhm, why can't Roy drive us?"

"I do know how to count, Andrea." Her tone icy now, Miranda raps her fingernails on the desk. "I want two seats available for resting and for an in-car office area. We're going to hit six cities along the Eastern Seaboard. Smaller cities that normally isn't included when we travel. Local designers are arranging shows for us to attend. I'm hoping for new energy and inspiration as Paris disappointed me in so many ways." This time I know her glance is deliberate. Skewering me, she doesn't have to put into words how I failed her in Paris. I came close to leaving her high and dry and only the fact I missed the fountain by an inch when I tossed my phone away, saved my job—and possibly my heart from breaking.

I take rest of the notes without any more foolish questions. Shutting up and doing my job just like she told me in Paris when I happened to walk in on her as she was in tears, vulnerable about the divorce papers her idiot husband had overnighted her. As I stand up to leave, Miranda startles me by getting up just as quickly.

"I hope you realize this is your last and only chance, Andrea," she said quietly.

I'm so taken aback, I can barely think of what she can mean by that. "Miranda?" I'm afraid to ask, hoping she doesn't think I'm contradicting her.

"You nearly walked out on me in Paris when I needed you the most. Granted you have not done anything to warrant criticism since we got back, but your poor judgement in Paris is unsettling. I want your word you won't pull another stunt like that again." She pressed her lips together and for a breathless moment I think I see shininess in her eyes as if tears formed for a millisecond. I know that's and insane idea and when I look again, she gazes at me with the same steely expressions as before.

I have to choose my words carefully. Thinking fast, I speak with as much certainty as I can. "I have already apologized, more than once, for my reaction in Paris, Miranda. I've also promised to not leave my job without proper notice." I could have added that her own actions in Paris by far out-stunt mine, but I'm no fool. I keep quiet about how she blindsided Nigel by taking his dream away from him without warning and I don't mention how she slammed the door in my face when I was trying to warn her—even if she already knew everything that was going on. I'm not going to get into a childish bickering about who did what to whom.

When I stop talking and take a closer look at Miranda, I flinch. There it is again, the dampness and widening of her eyes. What did I say wrong now?

"You're thinking of giving notice?" Miranda's voice is low and raspy and very far from its usual smoothness.

"What? Now? No!" Shocked at how she homed in on that part, I try to wrap my brain around why she looks so stricken. "I have no plans to quit. At all." The idea of giving notice, of never seeing her again, except on Page Six on the arm of the newest eligible bachelor once her divorce is over, makes it painful to even breathe.

"Then why would you say such a thing?" Miranda sits down slowly. "Honestly, Andrea."

I hurry to my desk and fling myself down on my chair. I gaze down at the leg space under my desk and wonder if I'll fit. Probably not. Set on distracting myself from all the question marks my conversation with Miranda left behind, I get started on my to-do list. We're going on a road trip with Miranda Priestly. Emily is going to freak out and stop eating, Serena will take it in stride, but I might have to blackmail Nigel to come along as he is still licking his wound and barely able to remain civil around her. I sigh and lift the receiver. When Nigel's "Not only no, but hell no!" dies out from having rung in my ear, I feel kind of proud that I managed to persuade him to come along.

Across the outer office, I hear Emily mutter to herself. "Oh-my-god-oh-my-god, what-do-I-wear? Bollocks! I-love-my-job, I-love-my-job, I-love-my-job."

I huff and keep working. That redhead Brit's got it easy. She loves her job more than anything and overcompensates at any given opportunity.

I however am in much bigger trouble than Emily ever could be. She loves her job, but I—God help me—I love Miranda Priestly.

* * *

TBC in part 2


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: This is the second installment of "Road Trip" and I plan for two more - depending on how long they are after editing etc-so don't be too upset if they turn out to be five. Thank you for all the kind notes and comments, guys!

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I grip the wheel harder as I drive through the busy streets of Manhattan. I haven't really been forthcoming about my lack of experience when it comes to navigating any part of New York City. Going everywhere by cab, town car or the subway doesn't give you very good sense of which streets are the cleverest routes. I spent all of the last two evenings memorizing different ones from my iPad. Of course the minivan has a GPS, but I can only have it on voiceless or Miranda will chuck it out the window. She's on my right, riding shotgun with her iPad on her lap. She's scrolling down a digital version of the Book, the next edition of Runway.

"You're staring, Andrea," Miranda murmurs and can barely make out her words over Serena's music behind us. For some reason the Latin music doesn't bother Miranda as much as the female GPS voice. I'm grateful for it as it puts a sound barrier between us in the front and three passengers behind us. Emily and Serena are in the seats behind and Nigel is brooding in the far backseat.

"Sorry." I'm not sure I was staring, actually. I did cast a glance at her iPad, but did I really look at her.

"No need to apologize. It was merely an observation." Miranda smirks but doesn't look at me.

Whoa. What is this about? She thinks I'm staring, which is a strong word for my casting a glance, and then she says it was just an observation. Who is this person? "Okay," I say weakly as I spot the sign for where I'm supposed to turn onto I-95. Our first stop is Philadelphia. I have never actually been there other than at the airport a few times, but I strolled around some via the street view feature on Google Maps. Especially around our hotel and the two buildings where Miranda's potential new fashion geniuses are localized.

"Anyone want some water?" Serena asks and leans forward. She's swaying a little to the Latin beat and holding on to two small bottles of Pellegrino.

"Thanks, Serena. Just put mine in the cup holder." I point between our seats.

Miranda holds up her left hand without taking her eyes off the iPad. Serena deftly unscrews the top and hands it to her. Let me know if the music's too loud, okay?"

"It's fine. Leave it like it is." Miranda speaks curtly and Serena rapidly takes her seat again and buckles up. I hear her say something to Emily, but can't make out the words. Good, that reassures me they haven't heard Miranda's cryptic words either.

Miranda opens my bottle and hands it to me. "Drink. We cannot have a dehydrated driver."

I obediently take the bottle and sip from it. I see Miranda do the same and for some reason, watching her drink from the bottle is incredibly sexy. I have to force myself to keep my eyes on the road and not on the movements of her throat as she drinks…or the fact that her skirt has ridden up a few inches and exposes a hint of lace at the top of her stockings. My fingers tingle to follow the lace to where it hides beneath her black pencil skirt.

I-95 proves to be a fairly smooth drive the first hour. The music is still Latin inspired, but more mellow as if to follow the pace of the traffic. Miranda has put down her iPad for a moment and looks unseeingly out the windshield. I find myself opening my mouth and asking Miranda a question. "Are you all right?"

Miranda doesn't even flinch, but merely turns her head toward me. "Why do you ask?"

I glance in the rearview mirror. Serena and Emily are asleep. Nigel is listening to an audiobook with his enormous headphones on. "You just look a little…I don't know. Lost. Or pensive." I shrug helplessly.

"James, my first husband, wants the girls for the entire summer. He's going to Australia and he wants to take them with him all of June, July and August."

"What do the twins think of that?" I'm worried for real now. Miranda's lost expression is emphasized by the tremors in her chin.

"They're eager for an adventure, of course. They've been to New Zealand, but never to Australia. I don't think they're quite able to realize how long three months can feel—" Miranda stops talking and grips her armrests harder.

"—they'll miss you terribly."

"Yes."

"And you will miss them just as much."

"More."

"I'm sorry, Miranda. I wish—" I stop there as it suddenly felt terribly audacious to suggest I could ever wish to help her when it came to something as profound as missing your children.

To my surprise, Miranda lets go of her armrests and relaxes. "What do you wish for, Andrea?"

Feeling trapped, it is my turn to grip the steering wheel harder. What the hell do I say to that without sounding like a presumptuous idiot? "Uhm. Eh. I kind of wish I could be…you know…sort of _more_." My cheeks grow hot and I have to blink hard a few times to remedy my suddenly blurry vision.

"More." Miranda tastes the word and it doesn't sound like a question. Thank God, since I wouldn't know what to say. Miranda shifts in her seat and angles toward me. As this is a Toyota Sienna minivan, the seats are quite far apart, yet her scent still engulfs me and I feel as if her warm skin presses against mine. I'm not normally this sensitive, but Miranda holds my heart, which means being in her focus…difficult. "You intrigue me with such a convoluted statement. I'm going to have to insist you explain in detail when we get to the hotel. You did reserve three rooms, yes?"

The quick change of topics makes my head spin and I over take two trucks a little too fast.

"Andrea?" Miranda's voice holds a cautioning tone.

"Yes. Yes, of course. Three rooms as you asked for." Don't I always do anything you want me to, Miranda? I want to ask her out loud, but I'm afraid I'll shout the question in sheer frustration, alerting the sleeping beauties behind us.

"Excellent. You and I will take one. Serena and Emily will share the second one and Nigel will have the third. This seems more efficient as I'll have you at hand to assist me."

I'm about to implode. If she speaks one more word right now, I'll fold into myself and become a tiny singularity and the beautiful champagnes metallic Toyota will crash. I can see it before me and have to wipe my damp palms discreetly on my skirt.

"Sounds efficient," I manage to say without sounding too strangled.

"I thought you'd approve." Miranda turns to face the windscreen again. "Pull over next time you pass a service station. We all need to stretch our legs."

Figuring that's Miranda-speak for using the bathroom, I merely nod. I wonder if my passengers will be completely in shock if I buy myself a few Twix bars, or something. If I'm going to keep driving after our stop, I need replenishing. I can't survive on cheese cubes and mineral water alone.

I find a service station and pull off I-95. When I drive into the parking lot I happen to look at Miranda and notice a broad smile on her face. "Starbucks," she says and sighs. "Andrea, you are an angel."

I come close to driving into a baby pink PT Cruiser at those unexpected words. I'm an angel? Miranda never says anything like that unless she speaks to her girls. What the hell?

"I'll go get some coffee for all of us—"

"No. Serena and Emily can do the coffee run. You have done all of the work so far." Miranda unbuckles her seatbelt. "Once we get back to the car, Serena will drive the rest of the way to Philadelphia. You and I will enjoy some downtime in the backseat."

My heart beats so hard I can't speak. Following Miranda toward the restroom, I am grateful to see there are real doors and complete walls—not like those stalls where you see people's feet and hear everything. Right now, my world is reeling and I need to lock the bathroom door behind me and just gather my thoughts. Miranda is in a strange mood and that automatically turns my world upside down.

After a few moments of persuading my now so nervous body to pee, I straighten my clothes and unlock the door. Miranda is just outside, washing her hands. She studies me in the mirror, her eyes narrowing as I approach.

"Are you all right? You're pale."

I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Pale doesn't cut it. I'm chalk white. Am I actually losing my mind over second-guessing Miranda's intentions and what she might mean with her cryptic words? Frowning at myself, I briskly wash my hands. Automatically I reach for the pretty well-stuffed makeup bag I always carry. It entails of many of Miranda favorite brands of makeup and other beauty products. I know she looks perfect, or at least she does to me, but she might want to touch up her lipstick or something.

"Here. Allow me." Miranda extends her hand and takes the makeup bag from me. We're alone in this part of the restroom and I have no idea what she's up to.

"You need some blush and a bit of bronzer. I let you drive too long. Maneuvering the Manhattan traffic should have been enough." Miranda take a Kabuki brush and dips it into some MAC blush before sweeping it in small circles over my cheekbones. She uses another brush, flatter and tapered and contours my face some with a mat bronzer. I watch the result in the mirror. Of course she's and expert. "And some nude gloss." Miranda smirks as I tremble at the word nude coming from her lips. The gloss makes my lips look fuller.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"I think I can get away with using the same gloss. We don't have the same redness to our lips. And it might prove to be practical to wear the same lip-gloss when you think about it." She chuckles and my breathing goes to hell. What on earth does she mean by that? Practical to share the same gloss? My overheated brain can only think of the most obvious reason. Is she hinting at kisses? Why would she do that? What if I grew insane right here, right now, and kissed her just because she teases me in such a foolish way? Doesn't she realize just how much she's playing with fire?

As the question buzz in my head. Miranda applies her lip-gloss and then puts it back and hands me the makeup bag. "Ready, Andrea? You and I will take the backseat. Nigel will take the seat behind Serena."

That almost does me in. Sitting in the fairly narrow far backseat with the woman I'm ready to do anything for…how the hell will I be able to survive this with my soul intact?

* * *

TBC in part 3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** I can hear some of you groan and say "told you so" when you see above that I've added to the estimated number of chapters. I just need to go with the flow of the story and it is truly a joy for me to write it. This took longer to finalize the way I wanted it, but hey - here it is! I hope you enjoy!

 **Gun**

* * *

How can a large minivan feel so cramped? I know for sure when I felt the vehicle start to shrink. It is when Miranda Priestly falls asleep after riding in the backseat for ten minutes and slowly starts sliding toward me whenever Serena turns the wheel to the right. There is no way for me to move further out of the way and if I do, I tell myself, Miranda will get a serious kink in her neck—and that will mean a world of problems for the rest of us. So I sit there quietly and do my best to look as if this completely natural. Inside, my heart flutters wildly and I nourish a secret hope that she is somewhat awake still and that this is on purpose. This is futile, of course.

Miranda's hair tickles my neck and jawline and the signature scent created for her by Givenchy surrounds me and makes my thigh muscles contract. I want to turn my head and place a soft kiss on that hair-sprayed marvel she is so famous for, but naturally I don't. I barely didn't get my job back after my gut reaction in Paris—if I start behaving like a lovesick puppy, I'll be out on my ears in seconds. Still, unless I'm imagining things, which isn't entirely impossible, Miranda has rubbed her cheek against my shoulder twice. Who might she be dreaming of? Can't be that loser of ex-husband-to-be, that's for sure. If she dreamt about him, I'd have a black eye and no front teeth judging from how she sounded in her lawyer's office. Why she wanted me present, albeit outside the door, I'll never know. I feared at one point she wanted me to take notes of the screaming match. A tape recorder set up at the café across the street would've done the trick."

"Mm." Miranda shifts and—holy shit—places her left hand on my thigh.

What the hell do I do? What if Nigel turns around? He's sulking with a headset on, listening to some audiobook or other, and with any luck, he'll be engrossed until she's awake. Shit. Awake. What if she wakes up and finds herself in this position? She wouldn't think it was my fault, would she? Of course she would. It's Miranda after all.

"Andrea." Miranda moves again tipping her head slightly back, which places her lips a fraction of an inch from the skin just below my ear. She turns toward me and all I can do is stare forward and try to control my breathing. I really need to gasp for air, but I breathe slowly and normally, as if I am asleep as well.

Helplessly, I meet Serena's quick glance in the rearview mirror. Oh, God. But Serena winks at me and raises her index finger to her lips. As this doesn't prompt any questions from Emily, I surmise our favorite Brit is asleep. I draw a deep breath. Serena is cool. She's actually way cool. Emily need to wake up and realize how much her friend loves her and not merely as a friend. Serena adores Emily and I suppose she's returning the favor of discretion. It seems like forever since Emily and Serena snickered about my ugly grandmother skirt. Serena has actually apologized for that twice. Emily was present the second time and kind of had to do the same. I think that's why Serena repeated herself. She wanted Emily to step up. I let them off the hook very easily as they are really good friends. I don't have more than one buddy left of my old gang. Doug stands by me whereas Lily seems to need more time—and that's my hopeful soul talking. If she doesn't come around I will have to face I managed to lose my oldest friend since she sided with my ex-boyfriend. My parents are on the fence about what happened between Nate and me. We'll see how that goes.

Miranda's hand moves. It slides down to my knee—thank God I'm wearing slacks—and then back up my thigh again. To my horror, and yes, my body's delight, Miranda's fingertips graze along the inside along the seam of my slacks. I tremble and now I can't keep a moan from escaping my lips. Serena is playing a Latin ballad and Nigel is still wearing his headset. None of them hear my moan of unabashed desire.

Except Miranda. Her eyes open slowly and then she turns her head slightly. "Andrea?" she murmurs.

"Yes, Miranda." That's not me playing it cool. Answering her like that is a gut reaction whether she calls me in the wee hours of the morning or calls my name across the office. I can feel how she grows rigid against me and know this is it. This is when she'll eviscerate me and fire me. "What's going on?" Miranda growls, a low purr-like sound in the back of her throat. Still, she doesn't move.

"Um. You fell asleep. And slid." I sound stupid, but that's what happened.

"I see. I apologize." She sits up slowly.

I'm so completely blown away by her apology, I can barely speak. This means I don't edit myself and that's what usually gets me into trouble. "It's okay. I didn't mind. At all. It was nice." Nice? _Nice?_ It's official. I'm an idiot. I was home free. She was apologizing, for heaven's sake.

Miranda turns her head back toward me, her eyes wide. "You didn't?" Her perfectly painted pink lips form an 'oh'. "It was?"

Now I'm confused and have to retrace what we just said to each other. _'I didn't mind.' 'You didn't?'—'It was nice.' 'It was?'_

I'm caught in the insanity and it's now impossible to not level with her as much as it is humanly possible to do so with Miranda Priestly. After all, I do want to keep my life. "I'm glad you could find some rest. I mean, that I could provide that for you. Sort of." My cheeks grow hot. I'm not stupid enough to point out how tired she's been looking, and downright haggard the one time I saw her without makeup at her townhouse when delivering the Book.

"Hm. Well. Thank you." Miranda puts her sunglasses back on and turns toward the window. "How far do we have left to go?"

I can imagine her twins asking the same question. _"Are we there yet?"_ Probably sounding a lot whinier. I check the clock on my cell phone. "Two, three hours, depending on traffic. Serena is making great time."

"Pull out your notepad." Boss-Miranda is back in her voice and I scramble to be my usual efficient self. As Miranda rattles off a long list of tasks for me and the others, I scribble them down just as fast, hoping I can decipher my own handwriting later. The car is running smoothly down the highway and I'm used to taking notes in the town car when traffic is very much stop-and-go. The only reason for these barely readable notes is my onslaught of nerves.

Miranda goes quiet and I hold onto my pen so hard, I'm afraid it will break.

"I suggest we file this into the 'what we must discuss' folder, Andrea. I cannot sit on pins and needles, waiting for you to decide to leave or reproach me for yet another thing. I crossed a line I shouldn't have, but I ask you to not do anything…rash."

Hey, stop. What? I drop the pen and pad and they slide off my legs and end up on the floor. What is she on about now? Do something rash? Me? And what line did she cross—or think she crossed? I'm completely confused and try to look as if I'm not. I still have to try for a question. I'm pretty sure this falls under the 'do not ask Miranda questions' and then some, but here goes. "What do you mean? I have no intention of doing anything rash. I don't know what line you're talking about only that I ask you not to fire me before we have a chance to, um, talk." I tremble but try to smile convincingly.

It's Miranda's turn to look bewildered. This is not a common expression for her—I don't think I've seen it more than once or twice. "I see." Clearly she is fibbing as she frowns and studies me closely. "Of course I wouldn't fire you. How could I?" She shrugs and looks helplessly at me. "Just the opposite. The exact opposite."

I home in on the tone of her voice rather than try to understand her cryptic words. Her voice is soft, velvety, and with a sonorous timbre. "Okay," I say, hoping this one stupid word will convey how relieved I am right now. I may be tossed in the way of Miranda's whirlwind at any given moment, but right now, I'm reassured. I haven't screwed up. She's not panicking over anything and ready to lash out to me for simply being here.

"When?" Miranda looks at me over the frame of her sunglasses.

My brain stalls for a fraction of a second. When what? Then I realize. "We're sharing a hotel room." I shrug self-consciously.

"True. We'll talk after dinner tonight." Miranda pushes the sunglasses up her nose. "I suggest you use some of the time we have left on the road to clean up your notes. Honestly, it looks like what my girls wrote in kindergarten."

I cannot be offended even if I tried. I smile so much it hurts my cheek as I gaze down at the pad and pen at my feet. Bending down to reach them, I happen to put my hand on Miranda's left knee for support. When I realize it, my immediate reaction is to yank it away, but I also can tell this will make fall in my face into her lap. My mind weighs 'hand on stocking-clad knee' against 'face-buried-in-lap' and though my entire body would like to commence both of the above, I opt for the hand where it is. With as much dignity as I can muster, I grab my notepad and pen and straighten up, careful to not accidentally clock Miranda on the chin.

I dare not look at her at first. Slowly I eventually turn my head, letting my bangs shadow my eyes. Miranda has her face turned toward the world we're passing. If I didn't know better, I'd say she hasn't even noticed my faux pas. My heart is once again thundering in my chest and my hand remembers ever smooth square inch of her silk clad knee. I nearly say something stupid like 'guess we're even', but I don't. She might not see the humor in this.

Then Miranda turns her head toward me. Only a fraction of an inch, but I can still see the faint amused smirk. And that—more than anything that has happened between us so far—solidifies how I feel about her. No matter what it brings, and what my future will be like…tonight I'm going to tell Miranda Priestly how much I love her.

She deserves to know.

* * *

 **TBC in part 4**


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: Thanks for your patience, dear readers. I am juggling Three stories at the moment and today it was time for Road Trip to take centerstage on my computer. As you may have already surmised, those Estimates of mine in the beginning that this might be four chapters aren't going to hold up. I hope you don't mind taking a slightly longer "trip" with me and our favorite ladies. :-)

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The hotel is gorgeous. Of course it is. Miranda would accept nothing less, but I'm a case of severed nerves already in the elevator going up. I admit I've conjured up hundreds of scenarios where Miranda and I have been forced together by circumstances. You know, stuck in elevators, door locks breaking when we're in a room together—that sort of thing. Here I am, forced to stay in Miranda's hotel room, not by circumstance, but by Miranda's expressed request. Or order.

If the room was instead her usual enormous suite, I wouldn't think so much of it. But this is a single room. Luxurious, but still. _A_ room. And yes, with two queen size beds, but that doesn't make me feel less nervous. This is one room. Where I will stay alone with Miranda and have a _talk_.

"I'm sure I can bunk with Serena and—" I stop talking as both Serena and Miranda round on me with fire in their eyes. God. "Or not." I glance at Nigel who is standing at the farthest corner and he doesn't even look at me. Great. Still sulking. Or, rather, still very hurt.

The elevator reaches the eleventh floor, which means we're one floor beneath the penthouse suites. Why the hell did Miranda suddenly decide to adhere to Irv's budget saving package? She normally just huffs at that and does as she pleases. Emily has told me she's been known to use of her private means as well, if at the end of a fiscal year, but never have I heard of her 'roughing it.'

We agree to have dinner in an hour at the hotel restaurant, which Nigel tries to opt out of, feigning a headache, but that doesn't fly with Miranda.

"It's time to get this out of the way and I'll be damned if I'm going to do this in a hotel corridor. I want to shower and go down to dinner. I expect you to be there as I have gone through great efforts to get to this point." She glares at Nigel who glares back, but as her eyes are all fire, his shows more of exasperation.

"Fine." He turns to his door and slips his card key in. I do the same, opposite of his and hold it open for Miranda.

The room is a beautiful as you would expect from this type of hotel. Cream, white, and—God help me—cerulean with rose cold light fixtures, make for a serene ambiance. The bellhop has already delivered out bags, which is a blessing.

I walk over to Miranda's suitcase on the stand next to the dresser. I plan to unpack her things first.

"No," Miranda says and walks up to me. "On this trip, we all pull out own weight. That means I take care of my belongings and you take care of yours."

I gape. I'm sure it's a most unbecoming look, but what can I do? Here is a whole new side of Miranda, who won't even carry her own purse at times. "O-okay."

"And you can stop looking like caught in a maelstrom. I wasn't always the pampered boss, you know."

There is no good answer to her statement that I can think of so I merely nod and hurry over to my own bag. I shove my clothes into the two lower drawers in the dresser and the ones that need hanging I managed to fit within four inches in the closet. Miranda walks over with some garments across her arm and hangs them with exactly two inches between. She studies my clothes to the right.

"You really need to have air between each hanger for the sake of the fabric." She pushes my hangers apart. "Like so."

"Okay." Is it my complete insane brain conjuring up visions or does her fingers linger and caress some of my clothes? That can't be true.

"I'll shower first." Miranda grabs her toiletry bag and the complimentary terrycloth robe from the bed and sweeps into the bathroom.

I put the suitcases away and make sure I have everything in my purse that Miranda might need during the evening, just in case. I've learned the hard way to be prepared for pretty much any emergency. This means I have constructed a special emergency pack for the car, a smaller version of it for my purse and a micro version for one of my evening clutches. I'll never forget when Miranda's stocking ran holes in four different places after she got caught on some old wicker chair at a function. She was ready to go home, which would have offended some of the advertisers big time. The way her eyes grew huge when I whipped out a sample-size spray-on pantyhose can from my miniscule clutch. I had her remove her stockings and pull up her skirt. Refusing to succumb to ogling her, I protected her skirt with several toilet seat cover sheets and went to town with the spray can. I had practiced on myself with this as I didn't want to subject Miranda to what she'd call a subpar product. Eventually, her legs looked luminous and mildly tanned, just like they did with her stockings on. Her favorite skincare specialist makes sure her legs are satin smooth—I've seen that woman work on Miranda and she's a marvel. I do a good job with my razor, but Ludmila is a whiz.

I think it was when I finally looked up at Miranda and caught her off guard that I saw her watch me with bewilderment written all over her face. I knelt there before her, having just run my hands feather light up and down her shins, and now she drew me in entirely.

Miranda exits the bathroom and snaps me back into the present. She's wearing the robe and a towel around her head. Her skin is damp and this makes me want to open the tied belt and run my hands all over her. Talk about guilty pleasure kind of fantasy.

"Your turn, Andrea. Don't dawdle."

Me dawdle? She must be joking. I'm always a step ahead of her by guessing what she needs next correctly and one step behind her when we're walking. Never do I dawdle or slack off. I'm perhaps a bit clumsy, but I'm not stupid. I rush into the shower with my toiletries, and when I've showered in record time, I wrap a towel around my hair and turn for the complimentary robe…which is still on my bed. Great. Utterly self-conscious, I wrap a bath towel around my damp body and walk out into our room. Just so think of it as 'our' room makes my stomach snap into an immediate taut bundle of nerves.

Miranda sits by the vanity and reapplies her makeup. She doesn't wear as heavy makeup as people might think. Some foundation, a little concealer under the eyes and charcoal eyeshadow along the roots of her lashes before the mascara, then some blush and lipstick, usually pink, and voilà. Now she glances at me in the mirror and slowly lowers her hand holding the mascara brush. Her eyes widen and then she pivots on the vanity chair, looking straight at me.

"Forgot the robe," I murmur, but can't move any further. Fighting to not lose my grip of the towel, I fidget and still I cannot take my eyes off her stormy-blue eyes. Surely this is an optical illusion? Miranda's eyes are porcelain blue normally. This dark, thunderous blue-grey hue…what does that mean?

Miranda stands and walks over to me. "You need to get your hair under control. I'll blow-dry it for you. That's faster."

Okay. So something's happened to her voice as well. It's as dark as her eyes, and husky. She points at the vanity chair and I don't dare to make a beeline for the robe on the bed—and besides, I can very well drop the towel and put it on right in front of Miranda, can I? The idea of her watching me completely nude makes my inner thighs hurt. I sit down on the vanity and then her hands are on the towel around my hair…and then _in_ my hair. She disentangles my hair by hand and then brings the hair dryer out. She would never use the one supplied by the hotel, but her own, high end and very pricey one. She uses a large circular brush and blow-dries my hair with such skill, I'm amazed.

"I used to do this for my friends in college. Guess it's like riding a bike." Miranda raises her voice to be heard above the buzzing dryer. "Your hair is amazing. You've never even dyed it, have you?"

"No. I like it the way it is." I do, actually. I can't think of any other color that would suit my complexion and eye better. I once tried on a blond wig. I didn't like it. "Like yours," I add before I have time to edit myself.

"What do you mean, like mine?" Miranda turns off the dryer and the room is eerily silent.

"I like yours and it suits you so well. But you already know that."

"I know it suits me," Miranda concedes, a very small smile playing on her lips. "But I didn't know you liked it."

Blushing now, I study my hands before glancing at her again. "I do. A lot."

It's Miranda's turn to develop a lovely, warm pink at the top of her cheekbones. "Are we still talking about my hair?"

I shiver. "Not _only_ your hair, perhaps."

Miranda bites the left side of her lower lip. "You're cold. Get dressed. Time for dinner."

I stand so fast, I nearly topple over. Miranda supports me by placing her warm hand on my bare shoulder. Her touch scorches me, creates trails of fire against my skin. I whimper. Try as I might, I am half naked and Miranda Priestly has her hands on me and I whimper. Just as I'm about to tear myself away and disappear into the bathroom with my robe, she runs her thumb across my lower lip.

"Why don't you wear that powder-blue dress you brought from the Closet? I think it will go marvelously with your eyes and your hair. This will be my eye-candy for tonight. Indulge me?" Her smile is the strangest combination of sweet and feral.

"Sure. Eh. Eye-candy?" I need to assert myself. "Then I think you should wear the dark green dress. It will bring out your eyes as well."

Miranda's lips form a perfect 'o', and it isn't a much feared Miranda-pursing, and I laugh, breathless, but also giddy. She won't eviscerate me. She won't even frown. I just know it.

"Silly girl," Miranda says so softly, it's like a caress. She takes the dress, lingerie and a slip and goes into the bathroom. I sag against the foot of my bed and try to remember how to breathe.

Then I put on the powder-blue dress that Serena assured me would 'do the trick'. I wasn't sure what she meant there in the Closet, but now I am. Serena knows. She probably only had to look at my face twice while I'm around Miranda and she figured it out. I hurry into my clothes and just add some mascara and lip gloss. My cheeks are flushed enough and my eyes are truly like dark wells from pure desire.

Miranda reenters the room and I just stare. She looks gorgeous.

"I take it you approve," she says and smiles wryly.

I nod. "You look amazing." She always does, but the green, form-fitted dress is taking up a bunch of notches.

"Then I'm glad I listened to Serena. She showed me this dress by some up-and-coming designer she's followed in the blog sphere." Miranda chuckles. "For some reasons Serena assured me this would 'do the trick'. Honestly." She takes her clutch and puts the keycard inside. Handing me mine, she raises her eyebrows. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"

"Mm? Eh. Nothing. Nothing at all, Miranda. Everything is…perfect."

"Then let's go. What have I said about dawdling? Honestly, Andrea, I don't care to repeat myself." The words, usually delivered with enough disdain to make me sweat, leave her still smiling lips soft as butterflies. She holds the door open and motions with her head for me to step outside. "We need food, but I don't want to stay long. We must have our talk, remember."

And there I come crushing down like a faulty satellite. The talk. After all this…flirting? Yes, after all this flirting I had begun to think this was kind of it. For us to acknowledge casual flirting. Clearly that's not even close to what Miranda has in mind.

As I walk toward the elevator with Miranda I know one thing to be true. I'm utterly screwed.

* * *

 **Continued in part 5**


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Thanks for your patience between chapter! I'm currently writing on two other stories as well. One new sci fi for BSB and one Swedish dystopic story to see if I can still write in my native tongue. :) Chapter Text

* * *

I pity those who never have had the good fortune to watch Miranda Priestly enter a room. Any room. Tonight when she strides up to the maître d', she has the woman more or less standing at attention just by her presence.

"Dinner for five. Priestly," Miranda says before I have a chance to open my mouth because this is normally my job, talking to minions.

"Priestly. Ms. Charlton only booked a table for four people though. Of course. I believe the other half of your party are waiting for you in the bar." The maître d' taps her computer screen.

"Fine. We'll find them. I want a corner table."

The maître d' has a shell-shocked expression but nods. "Naturally. Once you're ready to be seated, our headwaiter Sharon will guide you to your table. Enjoy your dinner, ladies."

"Thank you," I say before Miranda can respond in less than cordial words what she thinks of us being called ladies like that. "We'll sort out if there's going to be four or five of us with Sharon."

I walk behind Miranda as she crosses the dining room area and heads for the bar. Her hips sway just so and it's amazing how stunning her figure is. Not only for her age, after all, Miranda is pushing fifty-one, but for anybody. Nothing exaggerated or nipped/tucked to the max, but gentle, classic curves that move so enticingly in an understated way when she strides toward Emily and Serena.

Serena. Yes. She's up to something, that much is obvious. Right now she looks like the proverbial canary munching cat as she stands up to greet us.

"You look wonderful. Both of you," she says innocently. She might be overdoing the innocence part because Miranda gives her a narrowing glance, which doesn't seem to faze the Brazilian beauty one bit.

"As do you," Miranda says and looks them over. It is then I notice the colossal difference in how she scrutinizes me compared to how she study Emily and Serena. When she looks at my outfits at any given time, her eyes glide slowly along my frame as if she is memorizing my entire being. Right now, she gives my friends a once over and nods twice, which makes Emily's eyes glaze over with tears. She really is an approval-junkie when it comes to Miranda.

Emily then takes Serena's hand and squeezes it tightly. "You were right about my dress," she murmurs. "It did do the trick. She likes it."

"But of course, _querida_ ," Serena says with a purr in her voice. "I'm quite often right, you know. And just so you know—I love how you look in this dress."

Emily blushes, which on her pale complexion looks crimson. I can't help grinning as Miranda merely rolls her eyes and taps her Prada clad foot. "Why isn't Nigel here?"

Emily squares her shoulders. "He called my room and said he'd settle for room service as he had paperwork to take care of and had a headache."

I wince. Nigel is far from well these days. I glance at Miranda and notice how she's paled slightly. I want to squeeze her hand, but that wouldn't be advisable right now, if ever.

"I'm going to have to talk with him," Miranda said with a sigh and shakes her head.

"Are you ready to be seated, Ms. Priestly, or do you wish to stay in the bar a bit longer?" a cordial voice says behind us.

"Take us to our table, please, Sharon," I reply as I know Miranda expects this of me. "A corner table." I better make sure there are no glitches in the flow of things. The less hurdles during dinner, the less of a risk I'll be strangled later. At least that's how my crazy mind reasons as Sharon guides us to our table. I sit down facing Emily with Miranda to my right and Serena to my left around the square table. White linen table cloths, crystal glasses, and starched, beautifully folded bishop hat linen napkins, and a centerpiece made of pale pink roses. Thank you Jesus for no freesias.

I go through the starter dish like food was being rationed at the hotel. The shrimp cocktail is amazing, I'm sure, but I can barely taste it as I'm so hungry, and so nervous, that all I can do is chew and swallow, chew and swallow. Like a machine. A hand on my thigh makes me jump and nearly bite my tongue.

"Easy now. You're going to choke on a shrimp if you don't slow down." Miranda murmurs and I'm grateful that Serena and Emily are busy with their usual banter to notice. Forcing myself to slow down, I spear another shrimp and dip it into the sauce. Slowly I am about to put it in mouth when an insane idea hits me and I look at Miranda. "You decided on a crab cake. Would you like to taste this?" I wiggle my fork carefully so I don't send my shrimp flying.

Miranda answers by taking hold of my hand and leaning toward me. She guides my hand toward her mouth and nobody could take a shrimp off a fork in such a sexy, sultry way but Miranda, I am certain.

She chews slowly and closes her eyes for a moment. "Mm. Not bad." She opens her eyes and lets go of my hand.

I'm trembling and grateful there's only one more shrimp left. Quickly I finish it off and it's only then I notice how quiet Emily and Serena has become. I glance up and meet Emily's shocked expression. Serena on the other hand is smiling and looking so please that I feel like either hug her or smack her. Hardly daring to shift my gaze toward Miranda I expect a scowl at best, or a pursing of her lips, at worst. Or perhaps looking entirely indifferent would be worst of all. But Miranda places her utensils neatly on her plate and studies them intently. Perhaps only I can see it as she has her head slightly bent forward, but she's smiling. My stomach settles and I start to garner hope I may survive this dinner and then our talk.

The main course is all about steak for Miranda. I have ordered salmon and so has Emily, which makes sense. There was a time when I thought she never ate anything at all, except those darn smelly cheese cubes. I even started buying her Babybel cheeses as they don't have that smell, which she appreciated. Now she eats her salmon with delight and I can tell Serena is pleased.

We eat in silence as we seem to be pretty lost in thought. I try to make the food justice, but as voracious I was about the shrimp cocktail, now I can barely get more than a few bites down.

"Something wrong with your food, Andrea?" Miranda murmurs.

"Not at all. Just got full sooner than I thought." I look sorrowfully at my plate. "I apologize."

"Don't be ridiculous." The usually so disdainful words from Miranda sound completely different. Soft, worrisome, and perhaps tinged with tenderness, but that could be my far too rampant imagination. "Eat what you can. That's all."

I have to smile at Miranda's catch phrase. She would never agree to having a catch phrase in the first place, but of course she does. This one is especially memorable and I first caught on to it when she lectured me about how my awful cerulean sweater came into existence. Now Miranda cocks her head at my sudden smile, but looks pleased, perhaps she fears having to deal with some sort of scene in the restaurant.

"Are we all set for tomorrow?" Miranda changes the subject. "I want a summarized version of what I am to expect from this promising group of people. I do _not_ want any surprises unless they will make me smile. No unpleasantness whatsoever. I expect you to know what they're about to present—at least to a degree that I won't have to purse my lips and leave. I want to nurture these groups. Encourage them. So many of the classic designers that I've followed my entire career are, naturally, getting older. We are facing a major generation shift like so many other industries. I want the hungry ones. The type of designers that have visions and determination." She stops talking and at the point where she talks about hungry ones, she nails me with her laser blue eyes. They're bright and unavoidable. "Any questions?"

"No, Miranda," we echo around the table. This is apparently amusing to Miranda who smirks and cuts another bite from her steak.

I take two more bites and then I'm done. Emily and Serena are looking quite fatigued and I know desert isn't on our particular agenda since these three shy away from pies and cheesecakes as if strychnine is there basic ingredient. As I'm in no shape to even contemplate dessert, I discreetly flag down Sharon and take care of the check.

Miranda stands immediately after that and the rest of us follow suit like well-oiled and calibrated cogs. Again, she smiles and slightly shakes her head. "I feel like a kindergarten teacher," she murmurs to me.

I guffaw and this of course makes Emily and Serena literally jump and I quickly arrange my features appropriately. We ride up in the elevator together and as we say goodnight to our dinner companions, Serena has the audacity to wink at me and give me a thumbs up. I glare at her, but she only smiles as she unlocks the door to her and Emily's room.

"Did you wish you speak to Nigel?" I ask Miranda as I do the same with our door. I'm hoping for a reprieve, but as it turns out, I have no such luck.

"Yes, but not at this hour." Miranda glances at her watch. "I'll leave him alone tonight and go see him tomorrow before breakfast. I know he's hurt and offended, but there's more to him being this withdrawn than my actions in Paris." Sorrow ghosts across her face and it makes me want to hold her and tell her I know she will make everything all right. I don't do that, of course, not just because I do worry she may not be able to patch it up with Nigel despite her confident words, but also because I know I'll kiss her silly if I wrap my arms around her.

Besides, we were supposed to talk, not make out. And who says she would ever want to make out, despite all this touchy feely stuff going on? She might just decide to take one look at me and run for the hills.

In our room, the maid has been there to tidy up and fold down the bed covers, chocolate on the pillows and everything. I stop in the middle of the room, suddenly so overwhelmed and self-conscious I can't even walk. Miranda passes me, puts her purse on the dresser and removes her shoes. And of course, Miranda doesn't just kick off her shoes like a regular person would, but takes them off with her hand from behind—like I've seen sultry mistresses in old films do. My mouth goes instantly dry. God almighty, I'm in such a bad way that even if I could move, I wouldn't dare. Any momentum would have me fling my arms around her and hold her tight.

Miranda has now noticed my immobility. She tilts her head as she unclasps her necklace. "Yes?"

"W-what?" I try to get my tongue to work despite the dryness of my mouth, but it's difficult.

"You're standing there as if I put a spell on you. Why don't you get comfortable?" She places the necklace on the dresser next to her purse. The earrings go the same way; then the bracelet and her rings.

For the love of…I feel as if Miranda is undressing before me. Peeling off one layer at a time. She walks toward me. "Unzip me. I suspect I snagged the fabric when I pulled the zipper up earlier."

No. No, no, no. My hands shake so badly I doubt if I could even hold a baseball bat. I take a deep breath and stand behind Miranda. The zipper is indeed caught on the fabric and I shiver as I try to free it with my trembling fingers.

"Am I making you nervous, Andrea?" Miranda purrs.

What the hell kind of question is that? "Yes," I mutter under my breath. "And you know it."

She chuckles. "Touché. I do. Nevertheless, I do need help getting out of my dress."

Finally the zipper lets go of the thin fabric and I slide it down to the small of her back. She wears a lace La Perla bra underneath with matching briefs. Her back is pale and smooth-looking, and I could have sold any family member to touch her. Instead I ball my fists into tight knots and step back.

Holding the dress to her chest to keep it from slipping to the floor, Miranda turns to look at me. "Andrea…you really are a mystery. So brave and sometimes brazen, and then, like now, bashful and afraid to do something wrong. You really don't understand yet, do you?" Her blue eyes are a dark, stormy grey.

"Probably not. I don't even understand what you mean by my not understanding." I try to joke, but my words come off sounding breathless.

"Hence our talk." Miranda turns her back toward me and lets the dress fall around her to the floor. She steps out of it and then picks it up with graceful movements. Hanging it in the closet, she takes one of the robes and puts it on. I'm sure it's the one I wore earlier. Miranda raises the collar and inhales deeply before letting go of the deep breath with a humming sound that sounds like a kind of moan.

"Do get comfortable, Andrea." She walks over to the minibar in the corner. "Can I make you a drink?"

"Rum and coke, please. No ice." I grab the robe that originally was hers and virtually jumps into the bathroom. I hear her chuckle just before I close the door.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror, well, there's something odd about it. I know my own face after all. My eyes are darker. My skin is pale and glowing at the same time. My lips are impossibly fuller. As I pull off my dress, that thankfully has no sabotaging zipper; I can tell my body is in red alert arousal. As the fabric slides off my body, my nipple grow maddeningly tight and so do the insides of my thighs. My stomach is trembling and I place both my hands on it right around my waist. My skin is faintly damp. I put on the robe quickly and I know instantly that it's a mistake. Miranda's scent surrounds me, hugs me through the fabric of the robe. I do like she did, flip up the collar and inhale. Another mistake that I'll no doubt pay for. She smells so good, it's insane. I want to pull her toward me, wrap my robe around her and tell her I belong to her to the end of time. In my mind, she'll drag me along by the belt and push me onto the bed and take me. In real life, Miranda would no doubt recoil and consider me her biggest mistake—or was it disappointment?—ever.

"Andrea? Are you all right?" Miranda raps her fingernails on the door, which sends shudders down my entire back all the way to my thighs. The concern in her voice is genuine and that makes me dare to open the door and step back out into our room.

"I'm fine," I reply and wonder how my voice can suddenly sound so steady.

"Yes. You are." Miranda hands me the glass with my Cuba Libre. "Cheers." She raises her glass and I smell whisky.

"Cheers." I take a sip of my drink, peering at Miranda over the rim of the glass. She's totally void of makeup and I know now that she's going to be honest and up front during our talk. The question is, will I manage to be equally frank? I lower my glass and I know only two things that matter right now. I love Miranda Priestly like I've never even come close to loving another individual before in my life. And I want to make love to her.

As if she's reading some of my scattered thoughts, Miranda invades my personal space. Her sweet breath, just barely tinged with expensive whisky caresses me as she speaks.

"Very well, Andrea. Let's talk."

* * *

Continued in part 6


	6. Chapter 6

I swallow hard and feel the rum burn a trail down my throat. The heat seems to spread to my nipples that in turn go even more rigid. Poking the fabric in my bra, the friction stokes the fire in the pit of my stomach.

"Where should we start?" Miranda taps her lower lip with her right index finger while holding her glass with her left. "Let's discuss how it is possible for you to distract me enough to lose focus on my work…and not just that. You even make me forget every now and then how I'll be parted from my girls all summer." She pushed a few strands of my bangs out of my eyes. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"I would never be so bold," I reply breathlessly. "If it's any consolation, you're causing my brain to malfunction on a daily basis. I used to think it was because I feared you so much. At times I still do."

"But you don't think that's the reason for your, um, state of mind?" Miranda tilts her head. "Then what is it?"

She was going to have me confess to lust first. Like a master chess player, she set the trap and let me wind myself up and get all tangled in my explanations. Still, I knew the worst thing I could do was lie to Miranda. If there ever was a type of person she made the process of firing short with, it was people who lied straight to her face. I'd seen it happen and promised myself never to do that. Better to have her super angry, which she rarely became, honestly, than betray her with a lie to cover my ass.

"Please don't get upset, but you're so beautiful." I refuse to look away and that's how I see her gaze going from dark and intense, from blue to almost black, as if filled with clouds of thunder. I swallow, but force myself to continue. If this talk of ours is going to lead to anything—even if it is total catastrophe—I need to keep going. "You have this effect on me. I'm sure others have felt the same around you, but I really don't care about that. I can only think about the way your presence puts a magnifying glass on my whole life, on who I am, and it makes me want to turn it on you. To see the real you that I only seem to glimpse at times."

Miranda's expression softens. "What do you see when you see 'the real me', as you put it?" she murmurs.

"I see the opposite of your Miranda Priestly, editor-in-chief persona. I see the woman who cried on a couch in Paris. I glimpse the woman who held her girls after they berated her for yet another divorce, even if they loathed Stephen. I definitely see the woman who demands I go in elevators with her when not even Irv Ravitz is allowed to do so. Then I'm shallow enough to see the beautiful woman who makes me definitely question my sexual orientation." I knew when I understood the latter. Once I acknowledged how much I love Miranda, I knew I wanted her in every sense of the word. I've never made love with a woman. I kissed a few girls out of curiosity a few times, but just looking at Miranda makes my entire being more ready for sex than when I saw Nate naked. If I ever am allowed to see Miranda that way…my heart stops beating for several moments when my mind conjures up enticing images.

"I see." But Miranda looks uncertain as if she doesn't see at all. "So I'm beautiful to you. And you've seen me cry and be angry. That's not much to go on. For you, I mean."

"I'm not sure I understand—"

"I on the other hand have seen you go from a long-legged coltish girl to a blinding beauty. That's more than just superficial tranformation." Miranda walks close and I find myself pressing my back against the closet door. "You've come into your own more and more and when you stayed with me after Paris, despite my shortcomings when it comes to Nigel, despite how I dismissed you and dared to compare you to myself in not-so-flattering ways…you stayed and it began to peel the protecting layers away from my heart." Miranda looks angry now. Not annoyed or irritated, which is what goes for anger when it comes to her, but real fury. "Can you imagine what a nuisance and disadvantage it is to lose those layers? I've constructed them so carefully over the years and trusted them to keep me safe no matter what the circumstances are. I only ever let my daughters in behind those layers. That's how I want it."

"I'm sorry?" I say, not in a whisper, that'd be cowardly, but very quietly.

Miranda slams one hand onto the closet door next to my head and keeps it there. She drinks up the rest of her whisky and tosses the glass on the bed. It tumbles down onto the carpet with a muted thud.

"Sorry?" she hisses, a thin smile on her lips. "Really?"

"I'm sorry you're feeling…threatened. I don't know what for. I'm just me. Nothing about me is so dangerous that you would have to protect yourself. I would never hurt you. Never betray you. I'd rather just back off completely—"

"That's just it! Don't you see?" Miranda pressed her free hand against my sternum. "That's what I fear. You make me bare my heart to you and then…you might just leave. I mean, there risk is there. A great risk. Yes?" She massages my chest with small circular motions.

"I will leave if that's what you want." I'm being honest and I can feel how she flinches. "But you would have to tell me to go—and why. I would not obey blindly without an explanation."

Miranda's eyes are like spotlights in the dark, piercing through the night and searching mine for—what? More truth? Something she expects me to say that I haven't?

"Am I to understand that you're determined to explore these…these feelings?" Miranda falters somewhat, which is something I've only seen that one time in Paris.

"I am, if you are. I'm not going to chase you, or convince you." I think it's time for the next step and raise my hand to cup her cheek. Miranda inhale deeply. I let my thumb caress her lower lip and know that I'm at some fork in the road. If I've somehow screwed everything up, she's going to slap my hand away and call security. But if not…

Miranda turns her head toward our joined hands and kisses my palm gently. She nibbles her way along my wrist and up toward the crease in my arm. I gasp. And moan. And she hums against my skin in a way that nearly sends me to the floor.

"Miranda," I whisper. "Please."

"Please what?" she whispers.

"You're playing with fire." I'm not kidding. She is. If her lips reach further up my arm, I'll lose my self-restraint and that can't be what she wants right now. She wants to talk. I want her underneath me on one of the beds.

"Yes, I am," Miranda says, purring. "You're so hot against me."

I'm not sure how I do it, or if it is even me doing it, but suddenly we've pivoted and I press Miranda flat against the closet door. I hold her hands above her head, her wrists gently pressed against the cools surface behind her. She can easily free herself if she wants to, but instead she remains still, panting, and I can't think of anything else but the fact her robe us suddenly untied and she's in her underwear.

As if she reads my mind, she frees her right hand and pushes it between us. For a moment I think she's going to shove it between my legs, but she merely unties the belt to my robe. I allow some space between us until my robe fall open and then I'm back pressing against her. She said earlier that my body's hot. If that's the case, then hers is searing mine right back now that we're pressed together skin-on-skin.

"Oh, my goodness…" Miranda sighs and writhes against me. "This is utter madness, but I can't…I can't…"

Plummeting, my heart fears what she's almost saying. I try to pull back, but she's not having it.

"I can't let go of you, Andrea." Miranda's voice is barely audible now when she's trembling so much. "I'm always in control and somehow you, your presence, strip me of more than my clothes. You take away my control and the horrible, no the _dangerous_ thing is, I want it. I want you so much and I'm not even gay. I've had many women toss themselves before me, more or less offering up their jugular for me, but it's never enticed me. I don't want any of them. How could I when you're here? Nobody compare to you. Not a single soul." She juts her pelvis forward and this nearly sends me over the edge.

"Miranda, this is moving too fast. We're supposed to talk, remember?" I grind against her, so turned on now, I can't think of anything else but how she feels, how she smells. "Please, Miranda. Please. We haven't even kissed yet," I beg her and I'm not sure if it is my pleading voice or what I say that makes her pull back enough for me to catch my breath.

"You're right." Miranda looks at me with big eyes now. Before, they were narrow slits of pure, unadulterated lust, but now she looks amazed. "You're right again. This isn't going to be an annoying habit of yours, is it?" She sounds like she's only half joking.

"It might, but knowing me I screw up stuff, ehm, things, enough for you to be right at least fifty percent of the time." I hope she can tell I'm being facetious and judging from her smirk, she can.

Miranda pulls back, but doesn't tie the belt of her robe. Instead she takes me by the hand and leads me to the foot of the bed closest to the window. "I think we need to find out once and for all."

"We do? I mean, what do we need to find out?" I'm not quite following.

"I need to know if you're right. Come here." She sits down and tugs me with her and then she lets go of my hand. Framing my face with both of hers, she leans in and kisses me gently on the lips. A very chaste kiss, but it still makes my toes curl. "I think you're on to something." Miranda runs the tip of her tongue along my lower lip and it's all it takes for me to lose control again. I capture her lips and push my tongue against hers. It's completely impossible to pull back. Shoving my fingers through into her hair, I keep her in place as I beg for entrance to her mouth. I need it more than I need oxygen.

"Andrea," Miranda whispers against my mouth. "Once again, I underestimate you."

"Should I apologize?" I ask before nibbling her lips.

"Don't—don't you _dare._ " Miranda mimics my movements and pushes her fingers into my hair. My scalp tingles and then we deepen the kiss. I shiver against her and she moans, a blissful, contented sound. I make sure my caresses through her hair are gentle. She wears a lot of hairspray and I don't want to yank at her strands and hurt her.

Slow and intense, our tongues dance and taste each other. I'm fully content in exploring her this way. So intimate, but unthreatening as well, the kisses tell a story all of their own. Miranda kisses in a neat, but passionate way. I'm not all that surprised. It fits her personality and as I love all of her, I adore her kisses as well.

I wrap my arms around her as we kiss over and over. If I had any doubts about my feelings for Miranda, our feverish caresses and the way we cling to each other takes care of that. What keeps me from letting myself go completely is the fact that I'm fully aware of how much is at stake. I love her. Body and soul. She wants me, she is attracted to me and she's half angry about it. Miranda hasn't spoken a word of love—and if this is only obsession or infatuation on her part, I'm in for a world of pain.

So, I hold back the tiniest bit, and of course, I mean it's Miranda after all, she notices. She let's go of my lips, her sweet whisky tinged breath tickles my skin as she runs a finger from my temple down to my collarbone.

"Andrea?" She's asking and I'm not sure what to tell her—or even if I should. How do I voice what's in my heart without damaging it in the process if she doesn't reciprocate? Can I be that brave? Or is it foolish to risk everything? As I said, this is Miranda.

"Darling? Are you all right?" Her lips tremble now and it shocks me to see tears in her eyes.

That does it. I want her so much and I can't bear to see her cry, or bring her pain. "I'm fine." I take one of her hands and slide it in under my robe. Placing it on my left breast, I hope she can feel both my insane heartbeat and how my nipple prods her palm. I may not be brave enough yet for the words, but I'm showing her how my I trust her.

I pray she understands.

Miranda sighs deeply. "Ohhh…Andrea."

* * *

Continued in part 7


	7. Chapter 7

I can't keep my eyes open, no matter how much I don't want to miss anything of Miranda's expression. Her hand cups my breast so tenderly, but also with the possessiveness I've come to realize is part of her personality. I don't mind it. Not like this, when it's her desire driving her toward me, to touch me. Her hand trembles and this sign of arousal and perhaps nerves further ignite the fire in my veins.

"Like this, Andrea?" Miranda murmurs, her fingers drawing a whisper-light pattern around my breast. "Or like this?" She lets her fingertips meet around my nipple that is so hard, it almost, almost hurts. "So incredible…" Her voice is soft and husky and I force my eyes open. The sight makes me lose what little breath I have left.

Miranda's eyes are narrow slits, her lips parted as she clearly struggles to control her breath. Bright red spots on her cheeks make the rest of her face look pale and small beads of perspiration glues part of her bangs to her forehead. Gone is the elegant, well put-together boss of mine that I just had dinner with. Instead I see a woman who is in just as much need, just as deeply tossed in a vortex of arousal as I am.

"Any way you touch me is perfect," I whisper. My hands move of their own volition. If my mind was completely in charge, I would never dare to be so bold. I place my hands on her hips and pull her closer. Her robe seems to fall open by itself, like magic. I don't look. Somehow I just don't dare. Or I have this crazy idea that it would be rude, I don't know. But my hands aren't as polite as my eyes. They slip underneath the robe and assume their place on her hips. Her skin is silky smooth and slightly damp. Because of me.

I whimper and bury my face against her neck. Parting my lips, I taste her skin, this flawless, creamy skin she should be so proud of. Like satin against my tongue, so fragrant and with a barely noticeable sweet and salty taste, Miranda is magical. Her hand is still on my breast and now her free hand buries itself in my hair at the back of my head. She pulls gently and I remorsefully have to stop kissing her neck.

"You're driving me crazy," Miranda says, trembling and hoarse. "How can you—how can this be? I knew I found you appealing, and later I confessed to myself that you're more than that. You're…well, you're _you_. You're at work and in my home. In Paris…" She shudders. "And nowadays, you're in my bloody head _all the time_." Miranda sounds angry now, but her hand on my breast is possessive as it shifts to its twin.

I groan and move my hands up to cup her waist. She flinches and I pause. She growls and I continue. Her ribs feel so fragile just below the skin. She's not emaciated, but her figure is slighter than it appears when she's fully dressed. I skip along them with my fingertips, counting them until I reach the fullness of her breasts.

"May I?" I whisper. She's still agitated, but something tells me it might stem from perpetual arousal. At least if she's experienced even a fraction of what I've felt for months.

"Yes." Still a growl in Miranda's voice.

She's removed her lingerie. At least her bra. I don't dare lower my gaze to find out if she's completely naked under the robe. I'm wearing my lace briefs, but that's it. Now I slide my hands further up and then I'm so close to coming, I scare myself. I'm holding Miranda's breasts in my hands and their rock hard nipples are drawing patterns on the palms of my hands as I massage them. I bury my face against her neck again, nibble a line along her jawline and find her mouth. I can't imagine losing this. Her lips, her tongue, how she gasps into my mouth and allows me to catch her breath and inhale it into my own lungs.

"Andrea," Miranda whispers against my lips. "You're trembling."

"I know."

"Are you cold?"

"No," I say, my voice throaty with need. "I'm hot. Too hot." I am. I'm burning up.

"I can help with that," Miranda says and now there's a definite purr in her voice. She pulls back, which makes me want to weep, but then she merely pushes the robe off me and make me turn around, facing the wall. Pressing against me, I can feel how she's lost her robe somehow as well.

If I'm hot, she's scorching. Her breasts flatten against my back and her hips push into my ass, making me want to grind against her. I wouldn't have even dared dream about her doing this, but she is…and now she takes my wrists and places my hands against the wall next to my head.

"Hold on, Andrea." Miranda chuckles breathlessly and runs her hands from my shoulders, along my shoulder blades and down to the small of my back. I arch, it's an automatic reaction, and her hips press firmly into my ass now. "You need my touch, hm?" Miranda slides her fingertips just barely beneath the waistband of my briefs.

"Yes." I confess so easily to her. It's insane. She will break my heart just as easily once she's explored whatever it is she's after. And still I let her. I can't say no to her, nor do I want to. If this evening is all I get with Miranda, I'm going to have to live with that. I will never be the same, but saying no to her won't help that either.

"You're nervous." Miranda pulls her fingers back and places them on my hips. "Do I make you nervous?"

She does, but I'm not prepared to acknowledge that. I take her hands and push them back to where they were. "Don't stop," I say, trying to sound assertive. It seems to work as Miranda shoves both her hands into my briefs and push them down to my ankles. "Step out."

I do. Now I'm naked. As she returns to press against me, I can tell, so is she. Damp curls tease my skin and I cannot face away from her any longer. I turn around and cup her face. "You say I drive you crazy. What do you think this does to me? You're so freakin' hot. So beautiful." I kiss her again, sucking on her lips, her tongue, and then I give her tongue access to my mouth.

One of her hands is in my hair and the other plunge down between my legs. I moan and try to spread my legs more, but her feet are in the way as we're standing so close.

"So wet, darling." I barely register that it's Miranda saying something like that before she bends to suck my left nipple into her mouth.

I nearly scream. Heat and wetness compete around my breast as she devours it. Whimpering, I feel so out of control, and so lost, only to be completely grounded when Miranda pushes two fingers in between my legs.

"Like this?" she asks again. "You feel so ready for me. So…wet."

I think I'm about to actually faint. Miranda is cupping me and I'm sure I'm coating her hand to a degree where she might slip inside involuntarily. As if Miranda does anything without wanting it. Oddly enough, this thought gives me pause and something inside me settles. Miranda only does what she truly wants. How weird that her sense of entitlement calms my worries. If Miranda wasn't sure about this, about wanting me, she just—wouldn't do it.

"Yes," I answer belatedly when the tiniest of frowns mars her forehead. "Just like that. I want you so much."

Her lips smiles tremulously. "You do, huh?" She once again pulls her hands from me and guides me to her bed by nudging me gently. "I think we will just have use for one, yes?" She motions toward the bed as she arranges the pillows. Pointing to them, she clearly wants me to lie down. I'm quite eager to get off my feet as I'm shaking so badly, but to be on display like this before Miranda, the woman who surrounds herself with female beauty on a daily basis, is disconcerting. I feel stiff, suddenly, not because I doubt her desire for me, but because I know I look nothing like the models that pass through the office every day. I'm a normal size four, and sometimes six, and I have breasts that are way too big if you are into haute couture. My mouth is too big and I cackle when I laugh. What was it she said earlier? Yes, I have coltish legs.

Then again, the way she caresses my legs now as she's stalking across the bed toward me, like a white tiger on the prowl, she doesn't seem to mind the coltishness much. Or at all. I take another leap of faith and spread them for her, creating a cradle for her beautiful body. Yes, she's not seventeen anymore, but who cares about that? If she can overlook my not-so-much-a-model body, I can certainly shrug at pale stretch marks. Instead I revel in how her skin is so much like satin, how her blue eyes are almost black, and, oh God, how she nuzzles my stomach with that patrician nose of hers and how she nips at my skin.

"I could spend hours, _days_ , tasting you," Miranda says against my skin. "You smell divine. I've never met anyone with your particular scent. And now, _now_ , adding your arousal to that scent makes me dizzy. I've never had the urge before but now I cannot think of anything else but to taste you, Andrea." She leans her chin on her hand that rests just above my pubic bone. "So, my beautiful girl. May I?"

"Wh-what…?" I can't speak. I can't fathom what she really is asking.

Miranda draws a line with the tip of her tongue just below my belly button. "I'm asking. May I taste you, Andrea?"

* * *

Continued in part 8


	8. Chapter 8

I can't believe my ears, but my body takes Miranda's words at face value, increasing the wetness between my legs. She has got to notice this, considering how she's positioned. Her breasts press against the inside of my thighs and her beautiful eyes look into mine with a definite challenge.

"Well?" And, oh God, she has her Miranda-voice. By that I mean her work voice, her boss intonation.

I whimper and arch my back, so desperate to get even closer to her.

"I take that as a yes." Miranda chuckles and press open-mouth kisses against my skin, painting a hot trail to the left of my pubic bone. "And you're a brave woman, darling. I am not a novice at very many things, but I have yet to make love with a woman. I'm very happy that it is you, Andrea." She pauses and glances at me again. "Honestly. You're the only woman I've ever dreamed of, and those were some really explicit, heated dreams, mind you. You're amazing eyes can clearly haunt me during daytime as well as nighttime. Can you imagine how long it took for that to start to happen?"

I can't even think, let alone wager a guess, but I really want to know so I manage an "uh-uh?"

Miranda slides the tip of her tongue along my left labia, a whisper light touch that makes me cry out and then slap my hand over my mouth.

"The first time it happened was after you made that ridiculous attempt to bring the Book up to the second floor. I was furious at you for not listening to Emily's carefully detailed instructions. You were the dear-caught-in-the-headlight personified and I don't think I've ever seen someone look as beautiful, and frightened, as you did then." Nipping at my damp skin on the inside of my thighs, Miranda growls deep in her throat. "When I went to work on the Book, I couldn't focus. Each page I turned, I saw your face, your big, brown eyes and how you pushed your shoulders up to your ears as if you thought I'd bring out a whip and give you twenty lashes."

That wasn't far from the truth. I move my hips to get close to Miranda's mouth as she speaks against my skin. I tremble and my hands move of their own volition. Pushing my fingers into her hair, I hold her in place, but not too close. I want her touch, but more than that, I want her words. "Tell me more," I beg huskily.

"Finally, I gave up and decided to go to bed and go over the Book early the next morning instead. I was alone in my bedroom as Stephen was so furious with me that he was out cold from finishing a bottle of brandy on his own." Miranda parts my folds and her breath, hot and moist, gushes over my clit as she keeps talking. "So there I was, tired out of my mind, but unable to fall asleep as I couldn't stop thinking of my second assistant. Eventually I did fall asleep, and then it really became weird." She licks slow and longingly at my clit and I pull my legs further up and hold tight to my knees. Now I'm torn. I want to hear what she dreamed, but I crave her touches, her caresses.

"Miranda…" My voice trembles worse than before. "Miranda…"

"I normally don't dream much. And if I do, the memories of those dreams are hazy and quick to vanish. Not when it came to that first dream of you. In my dream, you came all the way up the stairs and gave me the Book. When I scolded you for being so brazen, you removed the Book from my hands and tossed it on the side table. Then you pulled me into your arms and kissed me, over and over."

Miranda massages between my folds with her knuckles, rubbing over my clit just firmly enough for me to groan and raise my hips. "Yes. That's what you did, in my dream." She now flattens her tongue against me and my clit feels instantly bigger and harder, aching for her to keep doing what she's doing. I roll my hips against her mouth.

"So horny, aren't you, Andrea?" Miranda says, her lips moving against me with each word. "You want my mouth and fingers on you, hm? Just like you demanded to be touched in that dream. Isn't that true?"

"Yes. Yes." I moan and tug gently at her hair, trying to get closer. "I need you. I can't…oh, please…God…"

"So needy and demanding at the same time. Well, darling, I will make you mine, once and for all, if you promise to tell me of your fantasies or dreams. Will you do that for me, Andrea?"

"Yes!" I bite into my tight fist to keep from screaming.

"Darling…" Miranda pushes two fingers into my core, holding on to my right thigh with her free hand, steadying herself. "You see, my dream kept coming back. You severely kept me from getting even what little sleep I usually squeeze in between work and my children." She flattens her tongue against me again, this time licking me tantalizingly slow. "My dreams turned into daily fantasies whenever I wasn't focusing on my work. I would pass your desk on my way out to lunch and then end up alone in the executive's restroom. What do you think I happened in there?" Miranda keeps licking me as she clearly demands a response.

"I do-don't know."

"I think you do. Tell me. What did I do in that luxurious bathroom?" Her tongue flickers over me and every now and then she grazes me with her teeth. I shudder and know she has me trapped.

"I think you fantasized about us and…and…and touched yourself." I'm so sure I've overstepped, but I don't care. Even if I'm presuming too much, I think my answer arouses Miranda further. She stops pressing her lips against the upper curve of my right breast for a moment and looks at me—almost, but not quite with her haughty Miranda-glare.

"I'm that transparent to you all of a sudden?" She hisses the words, enunciating them like they're laced with poison.

I stand my ground—or lay my ground, as it is. "No. Never transparent, but I can imagine you so clearly, Miranda. I can see you doing just that only because I've done that myself. I've gone two steps behind you, my eyes roaming everywhere they shouldn't, playing with fire as I can get fired if you ever caught me. Then when we're back at Runway, I have to excuse myself as I'm so horny I can hardly speak, let alone answer the phone, or take notes across the glass desk. That fucking glass desk. I swear you must have chosen it to drive the rest of us insane. You have no idea. Or maybe you do."

Miranda's eyes are softer, molten and unwavering. "So you go to the restroom? And get yourself off?"

"I'm so screwed," I mutter. "Yes. It's only happened twice. I mean, your executive bathroom is probably lovely. Ours is okay, but the stalls have very little, if any, privacy." Which didn't stop me, of course, but it was a bit hard to imagine Miranda's hands when someone flushed a toilet a few stalls down. "The second time I locked myself in the office supply room."

"Now, why does that sound infinitely sexier?" Miranda moves her fingers inside me and I moan. And whimper. And sob. She adds a finger and curls them lightly as she presses against the small area that makes tiny sparkles appear between my legs and inside my eyelids.

"Miranda? You're going to…make me…" I curl my toes and wrap my legs around her. Her skin is satin smooth.

Miranda grunts now with each thrust of her hand. Soft little grunts, enough for my body to produce more moisture, which I'm sure she notices right away. "You're right on the edge, aren't you, darling? I've brought you to the precipice and now you want me to fling you over and into that deep, dark ravine where you can thrash and buck against my hand and come over and over again. Isn't that so, Andrea? That's what you want, right?" She takes my left nipple into her mouth and sucks hard. Tugging at it gently with her teeth, Miranda presses the pad of her thumb against my clit, making me even wetter.

"Miranda…please…" I'm not above begging. I wrap my arms around her neck and I hope she understands why I respond the way I do to her. I know I said I would tell her how I feel tonight, but blurting it out just as I climax is not how I planned it. It's easy to say the three magic words in the throes of passion. I want to tell Miranda when we're calm and ready to listen to the truth.

"You don't have to beg. You don't have to _ever_ beg with me." Miranda gets up on one arm, looking intensely down at me. "Do you understand, Andrea? I will always want to give you pleasure. There's no price, no hidden agenda. Making love like this is all I care about—and you know I care about you."

Oddly, it is her words that make me come. It those impossible words, hinting at this being more than a one-night-stand that makes my body convulse, my voice break as I cry out her name, and my heart to once again begin to hope for the impossible.

* * *

Continued in part 9


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 9**

I'm not sure how long I'm lying here dazed and gasping for air. My thighs are still throbbing and I'm so swollen, I cringe when I move. This, however, doesn't deter me. I'm like a panther on the prowl and my prey is right here beside me, so innocently regarding me, no doubt so certain I'm well spent and unable to move.

I can tell it shocks Miranda when roll and nudge her firmly onto her back. Yes. This is how I want her now. On her back. Legs half spread. And, yes, quite stunned.

"Andrea…" Miranda gasps my name and I growl as I drag the tip of my tongue from her sternum, up between her pale breasts with their pink tips. I continue between her clavicles, swirl my tongue into the indentation at the base of her neck and this makes her tip her head back and moan. Excellent.

"Yes, Miranda?" I breathe against her damp skin. "Something I can do for you?"

"Oh, you—"

I silence her frustrated words with my mouth and kiss her until she melts into the bed. She's liquid beneath me and I settle between her legs—for now—and nip at her lower lip. "My turn. I've dreamed of this. I'm sure you realize that by now."

"Actually. So have I." Miranda moans against as I lower my head and take her left nipple into my mouth. I'm not very gentle, but I would never hurt her. Miranda just doesn't instill softness right now. Perhaps at some other time, we'll make love with whisper soft touches, but for now, I'm reciprocating and indulging at the same time. Romantic, dreamy caresses will be for…next time.

Miranda is too far gone for anything very elaborate. I can tell by the way her hips undulate beneath mine and the way she's tugging at my hair, trying to guide my lips. I relent as I know how much she has to be hurting right now. No doubt, her clit is rock hard and engorged, her labia swollen and slick with moisture. I reach between us and cup her. Oh, yes. She's wet and then some.

"So slick, Miranda," I murmur. "And that's all mine."

"Yes," she whimpers. "It's…yours."

"And I want it." I shimmy down between her legs, kissing a trail back down along her stomach that quivers with each kiss.

"T-take it." She can barely speak and it's my sign that I've tortured her long enough.

Shouldering in between her thighs, I say a silent prayer that I'll know what to do. It is one thing to know what I like and how this has been done to me—a whole different matter is if I can do this well enough for Miranda.

As soon as I press my tongue against her clit, I understand that it won't matter very much how I caress her, just that fact that I do will send her over the edge. I move away from her ridge of nerves as I fear she'll come too soon if I pay too much attention to it and I want the chance to learn some of her secrets while I'm down here.

Using my fingers I spread her open. I push my tongue inside her, and this makes her lose what little control she has left. Miranda wails and pulls her knees up further, holding them apart as she murmurs unintelligible words. I manage to decipher "Oh, fuck, Andrea…" or something similar and the profanity coming from this normally so posh and eloquent woman sends new moisture between my legs as my arousal spikes again.

I hum and press my lips greedily between her labia and move up until I lap at her clit as if it was my last chance to taste her. A tiny, tiny voice hangs on to that thought and turns it into a seed of fear. I push it out of my mind, or at least to the far back, and work her clit with the flat of my tongue.

Miranda arches against me, wails my name and digs her blunt nails into my shoulders, my scalp, and tugs at my hair. It doesn't hurt, but rather fuel my arousal and I push one of her legs down and straddle it. Rubbing myself shamelessly against her thigh, I coat it with my moisture and her convulsions acts as enough of a massage against my sensitized tissues.

"Come for me, Andrea," Miranda moans. She has her arms around my neck and licks at my lips before kissing me.

I can never deny her. My clit is on fire and it sends jolts of lightning along my thighs and up my abdomen. Hiding my face against Miranda's neck, I do what I know I shouldn't. I can't help it any more than I can help breathing. Tears leak from my eyes as the last of my orgasm recedes and I begin to sob helplessly. That seed of fear has clearly already grown and began to set down roots and I don't want that. I want to be here with Miranda, in her arms, feel her want me again and not fear it will be the last time.

Still, I do fear it and the idea of never ever having this again, never holding her like this and never hearing her call me darling, scares me witless. I desperately cling to her words earlier; how she always wants to make love to me and bring me pleasure, how she cares about me, but my tears mix with the sweat coating our skin. I know she's going to hate it, but I'm panicking and I can't stop crying.

Miranda goes rigid for a few moments and my heart almost stops. I shiver and know she'll push me away in a second. Instead her arms circle me and she rolls us on our sides. Holding me close with one arm, she reaches for the bed sheet with the other and pulls it up around us. Like a protective cocoon, it provides some much needed warmth as I'm suddenly very cold.

"Shh. Don't fret, darling. Unless you have second thoughts, everything is all right." Miranda's voice is calm, but I can hear a tiny twinge of concern. "Just relax and let me hold you."

"You hate tears." I wipe at my cheeks.

"No. I don't like that you're upset, but that's because I want you to be happy." Miranda takes a corner of the sheet and wipes my tears away. "So. No second thoughts I hope?"

"No. Never." I want to be honest and tell her as much of the truth as I can without exposing my heart too much. I need some tiny bit left that I can use to keep myself from crumbling. "Just. Uhm. Overwhelmed."

"I'm quite overwhelmed myself." Miranda draws a trembling breath. "The mere fact I haven't had an orgasm like that in since before the twins were born might tell you something."

Wow. Really? I'm floored. Forgetting my fear I dare look at her for the first time since I made her come. "So it was good?" I need to hear it. I'm not being selfish, nor do I need my ego stroked. I really want to know.

"It was unexpectedly amazing. Surely you could tell." Miranda hides her face in my hair. "I could tell I turn you on like crazy." I can feel her smile against my temple.

"Boy, did you ever. I'm such a pushover for you, it's crazy indeed. I'm still trying to fathom you allow me to touch you, let alone that you touched me. For heaven's sake, Miranda. You went down on me. Can you imagine what that mere thought does to me?" I cup her cheek and our eyes meet. Her cheeks are crimson now and I realize perhaps she's not always used to blunt ways of describing things. Somehow, though, I think my using plain language entices her.

"And I am trying to wrap my brain around how you can find me attractive in the first place, given the age difference and the fact that I'm rarely even likable." Miranda runs her thumb along my cheekbone. "But I'm not going to question it—or jinx it if I can avoid it."

"Me either. You're not responsible for my insecurities." I vow to stick to the truth as Miranda deserves nothing less. "I'll do my best to take what you say at face value as I don't want to screw this up. You mean too much to me."

"I do?" Miranda nuzzles my cheek. "Be careful, Andrea. You have awoken the dragon in me and I can safely say that no other person have ever made me feel this possessive, for lack of a better word. The idea of you being with someone else this way—" Miranda shuddered and grew silent. "I couldn't bare that, Andrea."

"Are you afraid I'll cheat on you? On _you_?" I'm stunned. "Are you insane? That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"Why is that so crazy to you?" Rigid again, Miranda pulls back to look at me. "Stephen cheated for months."

"Well, he was an idiot. A drunken bastard who didn't realize he was married to the most wonderful woman in the world." I'm angry now. "And don't ever compare me to him. I'm no idiot and I already know you're the one."

Miranda's jaw drops and that's when I realize what I just said.

Oh, fuck.

 **Continued in part 10**


	10. Chapter 10

"The one?" Miranda narrows her eyes and it dawns on me she thinks I'm either lying, or exaggerating. I wish I hadn't spoken without thinking it through because now I have to stand by my words and explain.

"Are you really that surprised?" I try to answer her question with another question even though that's probably not a smart thing.

"Surprised is not the word I would use." Miranda doesn't even blink but nails me with her icy blue gaze. "What do you mean by 'the one'?"

Geez. How hard can it be to understand? But I realize she needs confirmation and perhaps she's even more insecure than I am. She's the older one and also the one who has a lot to lose if our, well, whatever kind of relationship we're heading for, gets out. I think of what I vowed to do while we were driving here. I would tell Miranda that I love her. It kind of seemed easier then.

"Exactly that," I say and carefully place my hand against her cheek. "For me, you are the one. I've never felt this way about anyone else, man or woman. I'm not asking anything in return, but since you wanted to know—you're the one."

Miranda seems to mull my words over and I choose to take her not withdrawing from my touch as a good sign. If she pulled away from me now, I'd be in for a world of hurt.

"You're very young. Too young. I mean for me. Socially speaking." Miranda's voice trembles and she speaks in short cropped sentences. I of course disagree, but hold my tongue as I can see she's working her way toward something. "I have never even kissed a woman before you—never felt the urge even once and you know we're surrounded by the most stunning women in the world at Runway."

And I'm not like any of those thin, tall, famously beautiful women. I want to hide my face in the pillow and wail, but force myself to wait her out. As always, Miranda has no idea how hurtful her comments are. I'm sure she thinks she's just being upfront and honest. I want to keep my hand against her skin, but right now I feel damn ugly, so I lower it. It makes her frown, which I interpret as another good thing. Sort of.

"How is it they pale in comparison with you?" Miranda continues. "When I try to conjure up images of the models and the clackers, they're like watered down Xeroxed copies and you…you shine in brilliant Van Gogh colors. It should be impossible." Miranda holds my hand against her cheek and then pressed her lips against my palm. "You're kindness have never gone unnoticed. You go the extra mile several times a day and never take credit for it. In fact, you allow Emily and Serena to reap what you sow frequently. But I'm not blind. I appear to have my radar constantly set on finding you. As soon as you move or say something, I'm homed in on you and filing everything away for future reference."

I am floored. Again. Miranda's impossible words deprive me of oxygen and sends tears to burn behind my eyelids. Is this truly how she feels? She has no reason to lie to me and you can say a lot about Miranda Priestly, but she's painfully honest ninety-nine percent of the time—unless it's a business advantage to lie by omission. "Miranda…" I whisper.

"Shh. Let me finish." She places her thumb against my lips for a moment. "Then there's your voice. Before you, I thought it was rubbish when people insisted that their lover's voice could send them into a complete state of arousal. I never experienced that before you. The first time it happened to me was when you spoke to me in the den…when I told you I wanted you to come to Paris instead of Emily. Your stuttering, shocked response made my heart pound, and I might as well confess, it made me want to pull you down onto my lap. I very quickly started working on the Book to mask my emotions." Miranda pulls me close and I can't see her face as she hides it in my hair.

"I beat you to it then," I murmur. "I also must have a masochistic streak as I was a total mess when you dressed me down after I messed up at the townhouse the first time I delivered the Book." I giggle helplessly against her neck.

"Already then?" Miranda tilts her head back and meets my eyes. "When I was still married?"

I can't tell if she's shocked or amused. Perhaps both. "Yes. I responded to you early," I say and now I'm back at feeling skinless before her again. These rollercoaster emotions take a toll. "At first I chalked it up to being just physical. You're beautiful. Powerful. You know?"

"I know I wield some power, yes. Beautiful?" Miranda holds up a hand as I am about to protest at her self-deprecating huff. "And when did it change? Or begin to?"

"Into you being the one?" I smile and feel my lips tremble. "I know it's going to sound like pity, but it changed in Paris, when I found you on the couch with tears in your eyes. You went from iconic dragon lady boss to…to you…a woman, a real _person_ …like that." I snap my fingers. "I was so angry at myself for buying into your work persona and not seeing the woman behind it until then. Like the dragon lady was all you were. I was also terrified as it made me realize that the crush I had on my powerful and beautiful boss was not just a crush at all. Once I dared see you as an equal…I knew." I hesitate. I can't just blurt things out and bare my soul and my jugular in both at once, can I? What if she slices them with once quick verbal katana attack? I may never dare to love again if that happens.

"I knew something was going on with me when you almost walked away from me in Paris." Miranda seems calmer now and is relaxing against me which makes it easier for me to breathe. "I panicked and I told myself it was because I'd be stranded without an assistant while abroad. When you returned and we kept working as if nothing happened, I was still…uncomfortable. I couldn't trust that you wouldn't do it again—for real this time—at any given time. I challenged you. I treated you horribly many times to see if I could push you away, but the more I acted out, the kinder you became…so it backfired."

"How do you mean?" I can't stand not touching her and gently place my hand on her hip under the sheet. She jumps, but doesn't seem to mind.

"The more you proved you were not going to be scared off by any of my rather foolish attempts at repelling you, the more I yearned. And I don't yearn for people. Certainly not young women who are closer in age to my daughters than to me." Sounding angry now, Miranda shifts as if to turn away from me. This scares me and I act without quite thinking it through by yanking her toward me. Miranda stops speaking and her eyes are now wider than ever before. Apparently she can become shocked. Imagine that.

"Age is irrelevant," I say harshly. "So what if I'm twenty-five and you're fifty-one. That's the least of any potential problems we might have. You can't possibly think that what we have is common?" I hope she will understand what I mean, but of course Miranda dons her most blank look.

"Do tell. Share why 'what we have' is so unusual." Of course, Miranda hates being shocked or taken aback by anything—the woman hates surprises after all—and now she's falling back into old dragon behaviors.

"Whenever has having sex for the very first time with a lover been this good for you? I can tell you that the three firsts I've had kind of sucked. At least the two first. With Na-, uhm, my previous boyfriend, it was halfway decent. With you, on the other hand, it blew my mind and you sent me to orbit and back. It was fucking awesome. How many of your firsts have ever been like this. Be honest."

Miranda has the nerve to look affronted at my last remark. "None. Usually it takes me months to relax enough to enjoy any part of it." She doesn't look pleased that she's forced to admit such a thing.

"It can't be just because I'm a woman." I hold her closer and she doesn't pull back. Her free arm settles around me under the cover.

"I'm no fool. I do realize this…the amazing sex, all this excessive conversing about us, and sex…is because…It's all because of you. " Her mouth is suddenly on mine and she kisses me feverishly. Miranda pushes her tongue into my mind and I rejoice in the notion that she feels safe and wanted enough to dare do this. I return her kiss, massage her tongue with mine, and hold her like you hold a person you don't ever want to let go.

"Miranda…" I moan her name and press my lips to her neck. "Oh, God."

"You drive me crazy—and you know it." Miranda nips at my lower lip. "You're all I think about as soon as I stop working for a moment. I've even daydreamed at work and that has never happened before. Ever. You're…you're not good for me that way."

"But in other ways?" I ask. Perhaps I'm pushing it, but if there's the slimmest of chances, I can't be too cowardly.

"In other ways—oh Andrea." Miranda's eyes soften and she caresses my bangs from my forehead and places a kiss there. "In other ways you make me feel like I stand a chance. Despite my reputation, my age, my abysmal marriage history, and the fact that I'm a single parent to preteens…you make me feel like there's still a chance for me."

What kind of chance is she talking about? My heart melts at her dreamy, longing tone. I am so close at throwing caution out the window and as always, I want to do anything for Miranda. Anything. But there is also that persistent voice in me that insists she should want to do the same. Then logic hits and I know that if we're going to stand even half a chance at _anything_ , one of us needs to go first and I am certain that this one won't be Miranda.

"Together we stand a chance if it is what we really want." I am rather impressed with how steady my voice is. "I'm ready to give it my all if you are. I have a few conditions."

I knew ahead of time that the word 'condition' would make Miranda equal parts apprehensive and curious. Now she looks at me like I presented her with a boa constrictor. Fascinated and appalled. "Go on," she says very quietly.

"If we go forward like this." I motion back and forth between us with my hand and then return it to her hip. "It needs to be both of us going all in, to the best of our ability. We both stand a lot to lose if we do this wrong, which means we need to really communicate. And most important when I'm concerned, we have to be exclusive."

"And?" Miranda raises her left eyebrow.

"That's it. For me."

"So. Communicate. Go 'all in'. Exclusive. Did I get that right?" Her expression is unreadable, but her voice is the right kind of soft again.

"Yes. I figure if we'd have communication as sort of staple, we'd be set when things get all screwed up." I know I'm blushing now as my cheeks are hot. "Uhm. What would your conditions be? I mean, if this was what you wanted."

Miranda lets go of me and sits up. The sheet falls off her upper buddy and I can see the outline of her breasts, her shoulders, against the muted light from the bedside lamp. She sits like that for several moments and then she turns her head and looks down at me, her eyes glistening. Is she crying? I attempt to sit up but she holds her hand up, stopping me.

"I only have one condition, Andrea," she says and I can hear a definite catch in her voice. "I would be all in and communicate with you ever moment of the day when I wasn't at work and I'd never look at another person, man or woman. It would be easy for me to promise. My condition, however, is impossible for you to accept—as it is impossible to fulfill."

My mouth goes dry. "Try me. Please, Miranda."

Instead, Miranda pulls her legs up and hugs them to her chest. Leaning her forehead against her knees, she begins to shake and I know for sure she's crying now.

Continued in part 11


	11. Chapter 11

I'm at a loss what to do for a few moments. I stare with agony filling every cell in my body as Miranda sobs, a heartbreaking sound that slashes through my soul. Then my heart pumps harder, my adrenalin kicks in and I pull her into my arms.

"No matter what you think I can't promise, or won't do, just tell me what it is and I'll prove you wrong, Miranda." I rock her and for a few moments more, she allows me.

Of course she pulls back eventually and wipes at her wet cheeks with disdainful movements. "Not even you can do everything, Andrea."

"Probably very true, but I know how I feel and I can't even begin to imagine—"

"All right! You can't promise me you'll never leave." Miranda's voice is harsh. She looks at me with narrow, dark eyes and slowly shakes her head. "That would be my condition; for you to never leave me. That's the one thing I could not survive. You can promise a lot of things and I'd believe you—but in my experience, I drive people away and they leave. You're young, vibrant, brilliant…smart." She gives me a wry smile. "You're in the beginning of your career…hell, of your _life_."

"And you think I can't have a career, or a life, with you?" I'm not sure how to interpret these misgivings. "And just so you know, I'm not like your asshole husbands."

"I know you're not!" Miranda frees herself and pushes me onto my back against the pillows. "You don't get it. It didn't surprise me when my any of the men that promised me everything under the sun eventually had affairs, filed for divorce and left. It hurt. Of course it did. I'm not made of ice, against popular belief. They left and I was alone again, not counting my girls." She clears her throat and presses my shoulders into the mattress. I'm not sure she realizes how rough she's being or how haunted her look is.

"Miranda?" I try to get enough air to say her name.

She lets go as if she's burned her hands against my skin. "Don't you see, Andrea? If you would do the same, it would kill me."

I'm speechless for a good ten seconds. Just as Miranda is beginning to resign and shift away from me, I snap out of it. Taking her by surprise this time, I flip her onto her back and place myself on top. I don't give her time to object, but kiss her with all the pent up passion, all the love I feel for her. It took me a while, but I realize this is Miranda in panic mode. She's determined to push me away before I get even a shred of opportunity to do it to her.

"If you want me to stay away from you, you're going to have to convince me it's because you don't care for me, that you can look at me and feel nothing." I press kisses against the thundering pulse point on her neck. "The only way I'll actually leave you is if you can look me in the eyes and tell me truthfully you are indifferent."

"What?" Miranda whispers, her hands already in my hair. So much for indifference, but I keep going.

"And if you think blaming how inconvenient my presence in your life would be regarding Runway, or your girls, you will disappoint me greatly as the Miranda Priestly I know have people on retainer who deal with any such fallout in her life." I kiss her gently on the lips. The tip of her tongue slips out to caress my lips, but I pull back. "So, what's it going to be, Miranda? Am I nothing to you but a one-night stand? Or is this more than that? I think it is, considering how rampant both our emotions are."

"Oh, you…you _devil_!" Miranda spits.

"Now there's a nice change," I smile tremulously. "Devil, huh?"

"You don't know—you will break me. I know you'll be the one that promises me everything—"

"Hey there," I say as I take her hands in mine and hold them above her head. I hold her gaze firmly and try to imagine I'm not trembling. I also try to convince myself I'm not afraid of gambling too high and losing everything. Losing her. "Listen. I'm not saying it would be all smooth sailing for a couple such as us. On the contrary, we'd have a lot of fallout to deal with. But who really cares? The only one I truly care for is you—and your girls for that matter. You know I'm crazy about them."

"Damn you. You can't use that as an argument." Miranda glares at me.

"I can use whatever I want." Now it was Miranda who didn't get it. "I'm fighting for both of us here. If I have to bring in the pope or Queen Elisabeth to do so, I will!"

"The pope." Miranda blinked.

"What I mean to say is that as long as I'm not doing anything I fear can harm either of the three of you, I'm ready to battle on. You're worth it, Miranda." I rub my cheek against hers. "I think that's what you fail to see since those bastards you insisted on marrying did such a number on your multiple times. Don't you agree that I would walk into this with a completely different mindset than any of them?"

"I suppose?" Miranda speaks slowly. "Unlike them you do know what I do for a living. What it entails on a daily basis."

"I do. That's not the issue here. Not right now. Negotiating work hours and stuff like that really isn't what bothers you either. I think," I continue and part her legs with mine. Her folds are slick and hot against me and I moan as I grind my pubic bone against her.

"Andrea…" Miranda moans and arches. "This is hardly fair play."

"Never said I would play fair. I'm fighting for our future. Our happiness." And I am. One of us has to pull her head out of the sand and I knew it won't be her. I will have to be the strong one, because as hardnosed and feared as Miranda is in her role as editor-in-chief, she is vulnerable and damaged by how her private life has played out until now. "Listen to me. There are tons of things I can't promise. I can be hit by a bus, fall out of the sky while flying, get an aneurysm and die from that...that's beyond my control. But apart from that—I can imagine leaving you voluntarily. No matter what I will choose to work with further on. No matter what my family or yours says. And no matter how you will try to push me away when you're afraid. I won't go. I won't leave."

Miranda gazes up at me, a strange mix of fear and anger battling for domination. "You think that now."

"I do. And I'll feel like this tomorrow and the day after and the next day…week…month…year. The only thing that can make this a moot point is if you decide that I'm not the one."

Miranda gasps and I release my grip of her wrists. She pulls me down and holds me so tight, I can feel my ribs rub against hers. "But you are." Her voice is broken. "You are."

"Then let me love you, Miranda. Please." I know I'm risking everything by letting go of my last defenses, but if I'm going to convince Miranda to go against her fear and to trust me, I have to. "I love you. I've never loved a single soul as much as I love you."

I swear Miranda stops breathing. She stares up at me with eyes so huge, I feel like I'm drowning in her ice-blue irises.

"You are the bravest person I know," Miranda says so quietly I can barely hear her. She clears her voice again. "I love you too. Surely that can't come as a big surprise?"

I kiss her gently and then smile. "I hoped. After we made love tonight, I dared to hope for the first time. Had you asked me yesterday, I wouldn't have been able to answer as I would've been out cold."

"Heaven forbid." Miranda runs her hands up and down my back and then wraps her legs around me. "So, you're determined to make a go of this? Of us?" Her tone is a bit too flippant as if she's trying to keep it light in case I didn't mean what I said.

"No." I want her to understand completely and I can tell my short reply jars her as she goes rigid and her eyes go back to being mere slits.

"No?" Lethal now, her voice nearly singes the air between us.

"I'm not making a go of this. That suggests that I'll try a relationship with you on a whim. Sort of to see if it flies or not. That's not what I'm saying at all. I'm ready to commit, to promise you everything and care for you, love you with all my heart and your girls too. That's lightyears away from 'making a go of it'." I can feel this is it. If Miranda doesn't get the difference, if she cannot fathom the depth of my emotions, we won't stand a chance. Then she will try to drive me away at one point, eventually.

Melting into the bed, Miranda holds me tight and rolls us on our sides. Her expression is now relaxed and soft, her hands seems to want to map my entire body the way they stroke me with feverish movements. "God, Andrea. I love you. Never in my life have anyone made me feel like you do. Where in the world does this power you wield with such strength come from?"

"No idea." I'm smiling so broadly now, my cheeks hurt. "My best guess is…from loving you?"

"Then by all means, I will learn from you and exercise some of the same strength." Miranda's lips tremble, but her reciprocating smile is still brilliant. "I do the irony in my attempt to shield myself from you potentially leaving me by driving you away…it's a quite ridiculous concept."

I know better than agree too eagerly. Besides, I am not being pretentious when I think I know Miranda better than she does herself when it comes to her private fears. She may come to the same conclusion as I just did—that she's a bit of an ostrich—with time, but I'm not going to point that out. I'm no fool either. Right now I'm very happy and I'm hoping she won't have yet another serious bout of insecurity and fear that will derail us. I know it is early days yet and still…my instinct tells me that once Miranda has examined her emotions and decided to dare to trust in mine, she'll go full steam ahead, which is in her nature. She's no wishy-washy individual, far from it, and once she has her strategy clear, she's committed to making it work. I can only live in hope that she will regard us the same way.

I decide to kind of seal the moment and thus cement it in both our minds. Worming my right hand in between us, I cup her still-swollen folds and let my middle finger caress her clit. Miranda jerks and begins to tremble instantly.

"Andrea!" Her hands move to my breasts and she's massaging them, caressing them, plucking at my sensitized nipples. "Go inside. Please."

I do. Two fingers, then three, I enter her, claim my Miranda and she grunts in a very unladylike way with each thrust of my hand. It drive me nearly insane to watch her bite her lower lip, arch her back against me, and I can think of nothing I want more than make her come again. Or so I imagine before her hand finds my aching core.

"Oh, my…so wet again, darling?" Miranda purrs between gasps. She circles my entrance. "May I?"

"Y-yes!" I move up to make it easier for her and she enters me so slowly I'm whimpering.

"Move against me. Yes, like that. Like that." Miranda hooks her legs farther up around my torso, moving her fingers faster.

I reciprocate with the same rhythm and when she realizes I change pace to mimic hers, she speeds up even more. I can tell she's close and I'm not far behind. The way her knuckles tease my opening is sending me headlong into what promises to be the orgasm of my life. Of course it's not just the friction, or the pace, or even the way it feels to have my fingers inside Miranda…it's because it _is_ Miranda. Only this morning, I was certain my love for her was hopeless and didn't even dare to dream—only fantasize. Now, the woman I love and adore is making love with me, gazing up at me with clear love and adoration right back. That's why my body is nearing an orgasm that I'm sure will border on pain in its intensity.

Miranda comes, convulsing around my fingers and clutches at me with her free hand as she wails my name over and over. I barely register it before I follow and yes, it is pleasure. Yes, it's is almost painful. And yes, it's the best sex I've ever had and no; I don't ever want to leave Miranda, not for anything or anyone.

As we calm down, sweat evaporates, heartrate and breathing slows down. Miranda seems content on snuggling close after we carefully withdraw our fingers. I'm suddenly so tired, so spent; I'm sure I'll nod off in a few moments.

"Time to sleep, Andrea," Miranda says and yawns. She tugs at the covers and managed to cover us. "Long day tomorrow."

"Good idea." I close my eyes. "I love you."

Miranda turns her head and I open my eyes again. And lose my breath all over again. Miranda is studying me with such tenderness written across her face and with her lips stretched into the softest of smiles. She's never been more beautiful.

"I love you," Miranda says quietly. "Sleep well."

"You too." I turn into her and bury my face against her neck, inhaling the amazing scent of perfume and sweat. Her arms hold me close and knowing this is our first night of many more to come makes me the happiest I've ever been. When she presses her lips against the top of my head, I know this feeling will only continue to grow.

END


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